Happy Plight
by crazyidea-inc
Summary: Mary and Matthew's reactions to their first party after her scandal hits the newspapers. Un poco fluffy, but they deserve it, don't they?


There was no trace of fear, no telltale blush or hesitancy, nothing to suggest any emotion beyond polite interest. She almost seemed _relaxed_; the slope of her shoulders seemed to laugh at the exchanged looks of incredulity, and there was something in the tilt of her chin that perhaps mentioned defiance in passing, but with an arched eyebrow dutifully stifled. It was only as he pressed his hand in the small of her back that he felt her trembling slightly.

It was a faint tremor, undetectable unless one was touching her, but it was there. He glanced at her, surprised. Not a bit of it showed - there wasn't a chink in her armor. She had faced this first evening utterly terrified, and he hadn't known a thing until the evening was nearly over. The thought made his heart squeeze painfully. "I'm afraid we must dash," he announced suddenly. Mary's body stilled under his palm as she looked at him. The tiniest of emotions flickered in her eyes - relief? Gratitude? - before she nodded to the unconvincing protests and pouts that followed his declaration.

"Oh, but you must stay a little while longer," Evelyn Napier's wife insisted. What was her name? Something awful like Gertrude or Caroline. Matthew smiled tightly.

"No, no," he replied. "Lord and Lady Grantham will be expecting us for dinner - Lady Sybil and her husband have come to stay - " Napier's wife's eyes widened, gleeful. Caroline, that was it.

"Oh, is he the - "

"Political journalist?" Matthew finished for her innocently. Her eagerness dimmed, something like mutiny in the curl of her mouth.

"Yes, of course," she demurred, but her resentment peeked out through her mask, reflected in the stares and whispers that Mary had endured for - _good God _- almost three hours now. It was all he could do not to scoop her up and carry her out of the hall. But he settled for making their obligatory goodbyes as succinct as possible. It was, therefore, with considerable relief that he helped her into the car and shut the door on the awful party.

"Are you all right?" he asked as the motor started. She flashed him a quick smile, the one she had hidden behind all evening. But the hand that snuck into his own was cold and held his tightly, desperately.

The ride home was silent, tense. Mary let go of his hand almost as soon as they pulled around.

"Mary," he said helplessly, but she was out of the car like a shot, past a startled Carson, a worried and very pregnant Sybil, and her bemused father, who raised his eyebrows at Matthew, who could only gesture vaguely as he jogged after his fiancée.

"Why, Mary - " Lady Violet exclaimed as her granddaughter slipped past her. "Can't you keep up with her?" she demanded after Matthew. Matthew allowed himself a frustrated sigh.

"Mary," he called. The train of her dress fluttered around the corner of the hallway, a snatch of blue in his peripheral vision. When he reached the hallway, however, it was empty. He couldn't help it; his shoulders slumped. "Mary," he muttered to himself. On a hunch, he backtracked, easing out the back door that the servants generally used, nearly scaring an astonished Mrs. Hughes to death.

"Mr. Crawley - !"

"So sorry, I'm just on my way out - "

Her scandalized gaze followed him out into the night. Matthew blew through his nose; it wasn't as though he had _wanted _to go to the blasted affair, but they didn't really have a choice, did they? And though he'd known she'd have to face it sometime, he thought glumly, he had done his utmost to postpone it as long as he could.

The grounds were starlit and still, and somehow he wasn't surprised at all to see a lone figure silhouetted in the darkness underneath the tree that had witnessed the highs and lows - mostly lows - of their long and tumultuous relationship. Matthew slowed to a walk, feeling bruised. After all they'd gone through together, she was still so terrified to show anything but what she wanted to show. She'd seen him at his worst: paralyzed, impotent, and dark, so very dark. Yet even at her most vulnerable, Mary always had her guard up. Everything was a guessing game, one he was quickly tiring of losing.

The figure beneath the tree glanced behind her, then turned to face him.

"I'm sorry, darling, I just needed some air - "

"You needed to breathe," Matthew corrected lightly. She didn't reply, silently regarding him. "I am so very sorry about tonight," he said after a moment, quietly. She smiled, quick, reflexive, artificial.

"It could have been worse," she said, shrugging one shoulder. He couldn't help but marvel again at her artifice. But then, the night masked most of her face, and perhaps the eyes shining out from the gloom should not have been so bright.

"Mary," he said gently, stepping nearer to her. He half-expected her to run; the closer he got, the more he could see her slipping. She reminded him, abruptly, painfully, of a fox, holed up with no out, eyes resigned, body tensing for the final blow. Very gently, he cupped her face with both hands. Almost immediately, her mask crumpled.

"It was awful," she sobbed, burying her head into his neck. He held her tightly to him; it always shocked him how very tiny she was - her formidability gave her the illusion of being more solid than she actually was. "I could feel them - _hating _me, all evening." He kissed the top of her head possessively, protectively.

"I was a fool to make you go tonight," he murmured into her hair. A shudder rippled through her.

"Don't be ridiculous," she whispered. Her lips brushed against the hollow of his throat as she spoke. "Better to face it head on. I just…I didn't prepare myself properly, I shut my eyes to it…" Her arms tightened around him impulsively. "I wouldn't have been able to do it without you, you know." Matthew pulled her out of his chest, wiping away her tears with his thumbs.

"It was very brave," he said firmly. "I don't think I could have faced it." Mary snorted, mouth trembling.

"Yes, goodness, wars can't hold a candle to the dangers of a few spiteful spinsters," she retorted. "Bullets? Ha! Try being snickered at." He chuckled and she managed a smile, albeit a wet one. "My brave darling," he murmured, and kissed her. Her fingers twined themselves in his hair and he pulled her closer, grinning against her mouth. "My fiancée," he announced loudly in a voice that echoed around the grounds as they broke apart, and she shushed him, trying but not quite managing to suppress a giggle.

"For heaven's sake," she scolded, the effect quite ruined by the way her lips kept twitching. "Do you want to wake the whole county?" Matthew threw back his head and laughed. "Matthew!" she fussed, but he picked her up and swung her round and round.

"My fiancée," he whispered in her ear when he set her down at last. Breathlessly, she kissed him, long and slow and utterly giddy, the evening already a fast-fading bad dream.

"My fiancé," she whispered back, and if they were a little late going back to the house, no one mentioned it, least of all Lady Violet, who stood and watched them meander about the lawn for a bit, the hint of a smile on her face.

"As it should be," she said to no one in particular, allowing herself a satisfied nod. "As it should be."


End file.
